A/N: All i can say is read and review please. And i am sorry of the characters are too OOC. I just couldnt help but write this the way it is here. I couldnt even modify. It had to be written this way only.
He looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes glided over his smooth skin, black hair, black eyes and handsome features. His lips curled into a proud smile. No one could resist his good looks and charms.
And today of all days, he needed the best of both.
Looking at his image once again, straightening his exquisite green robes, he gave himself a satisfied smile. He was ready for his guest.
Ron opened his eyes slowly, expecting the events of past few hours dissolve into a nightmare.
Hands chained to a wall, gashes all over his body, torn robes and pain did nothing to agree to his hope.
He had been caught. Thankfully, he had been able to save Harry and Hermione. He could face anything now, knowing that his best friends were safe.
He wondered what the Death Eaters were waiting for. They were yet to taunt or torture him. Which was a shock!
Maybe they are waiting for their dear Lord to do their dirty work.
Ron scoffed. As if he was important enough for him to descend from his heavens to do something as trivial as Crucio him!
He wished they could get over it already. At least that would save him from imagining gruesome ways of torture which could even put You-know-who to shame.
It's Voldemort, Ron. Ron smiled as he remembered all too familiar chiding of Harry.
Thoughts of his friends made Ron's heart ache. He wouldn't see them again. He just hoped they were not planning something as stupid as a rescue plan for him.
The door to his cell creaked open, breaking Ron's musings.
"Mr. Weasley," an all too familiar voice greeted Ron.
And he wasn't surprised. He always had doubts about Snape's true allegiance.
So, they had chosen Snape to torture him. This also didn't surprise him. Quite possible that Snape had licked You-know-who's feet to have this wish.
Snape entered the cell. Without any ado, he flicked his wand.
Now, Ron was surprised.
Instead of the expected 'Crucio', the chains vanished. Ron narrowed his eyes at the spy, trying to know what he was up to. No hint whatsoever.
Severus waved his wand many a times healing Ron's wounds and forced some liquid down his throat. This immediately eased the pain he was feeling.
"You will wear these robes, Mr. Weasley while I wait for you outside the cell," Severus intoned, placing a big paper bag at his feet.
Without any explanation, Severus turned around and walked out of the cell.
'I am treated like a guest here,' Ron mused and laughed it off as a maniacal thought.
Had it been any other time, Ron would have appreciated the finesse of the material of robes, its exquisite suture and the perfect fit. At the moment he was feeling like a lamb to be slaughtered.
Without wasting any time, Ron got himself dressed. He won't let Voldemort provoke him. He won't let any secrets out. He will die proudly.
With these thoughts, Ron emerged out of his cell with serene composure. Silently, he followed Snape.
Voldemort was anxiously glancing at the door. Anytime now Severus will bring the boy. He hoped his stupid minions haven't hurt him badly. Because if they had they won't even know what hit them.
He walked to the window, observing the rain pouring outside. Hogwarts always looked fresh after rains. And beautiful. He had long time ago stopped observing such trivial things. He had more important things to do and achieve.
He heard footsteps even before the door opened. Involuntarily, he straightened himself, removing the invisible creases from his robes. He turned around to welcome his guest.
Far across the room stood Ronald Bilius Weasley, clad in black robes. His posture was defiant, but his face was calm and serene. He stood confident as ever with the same mischievous smirk on his lips.
Voldemort never had appreciated his own looks except that they helped him achieve his motives. Never had he been happy for his own beauty because it wasn't something people were scared of; it was something that drew people to him. That's why he was more than happy when his features changed after his resurrection.
But today he was proud of his own sharp features. That he was an equal to Weasley. That Weasley won't be scared because of his snake like face was a big relief for him.
For once in his life, Voldemort was happy to be Tom Riddle.
Ron entered Voldemort's lair, feeling nothing, except for a strange calmness. He smirked at the irony. Here he was, about to meet his death and yet he was calm.
His first thought was that the hall was empty. Then, he noticed someone far across the room. But he wasn't sure who it was, since the person was relatively in dark. But Ron was sure that the person was observing him.
The person had an aura of power around him. That posture spoke of confidence to the point of arrogance as well as naïve vulnerability.
"Welcome to my abode, Mr. Weasley," a silky voice greeted him. Just like the persona, the voice was also powerful.
Curiously, Ron walked towards the person, but he didn't take a step in his direction. However, the person moved out of his sphere of darkness when Ron was some five feet away.
And Ron stopped. For he could only stare at the person before him.
Pale skin, silky hair, black eyes, thin lips, prominent cheekbones. Tall frame clad in aristocratic green robes. Long fingers clasped with each other. A gaze so strong directed at him which could burn a hole right through him. Ron noticed it all in three seconds.
But not before recognising Tom Marvolo Riddle. Or Voldemort. Death personified. A beautiful death indeed.
Tom had never felt so vulnerable before as he did now. It might be just three seconds Weasley took to look at him. But for Tom, it was like a lifetime. He didn't find rejection in those blue eyes, only surprise.
"You're welcoming me as if I am a guest here," Ron said in a calm voice, with just a hint of amusement in his eyes.
The roles had reversed. Tom was the weak one here. Whether Ron knew it or not didn't matter.
"But you are, Mr. Weasley," Tom assured.
"Oh," Ron said, "So, you treat all your guests with chains, gashes and cell?"
Maybe because I wanted to ensure you don't run away. "You will understand that you can't be trusted with freedom in this manor," Tom said instead.
Ron nodded his head. Quietly, he made his way to the window, where Tom was standing not a minute ago. He stared outside, totally ignoring Tom's presence.
Not that Tom was complaining. Silently, he observed the person before him, hidden in darkness. Occasional lightning would brighten his profile, making him appear like a ghost.
A beautiful ghost, Tom noted.
It was beyond Ron's comprehension. Maybe Hermione would have been able to explain it. But Ron simply couldn't.
How could he explain the vulnerability in Tom's eyes, insecurity in his posture, weakness in his power? These contradictions were not making any sense.
He had hated Voldemort with passion. He had feared him even when his best friends didn't. He had heard gruesome tales of his deeds. He had faced him before. And those feelings had never changed.
But now … he just couldn't bring himself to hate the person before him.
He didn't notice when he walked to the window and stood beside it. How long he stared outside, he had no idea.
Ron sighed. Nothing was making sense. Maybe it was better to go with the flow. As if magically, that thought cleared his mind and he could observe Mother Nature's beauty.
"Beautiful," Ron whispered, still staring outside the window.
"I agree," Tom's voice affirmed from somewhere near.
Ron turned around to face him. Staring in his eyes, he asked calmly, "So, what do you want?"
Tom blinked once. "How about dinner?"
Shock must have shown on Ron's face because Tom chuckled. But what else could be expected!
Ron nodded and followed Tom's lead.
There was table in the middle of the hall which was not there when he first appeared in the room. Ron took his seat at one end while Tom took his on other side.
Without another word, both of them started their meal. It was delicious, maybe more than Hogwarts' or even Mum's. It was as if house elfs had outdone themselves.
The thought of poisoning did cross Ron's mind once but was discarded instantly. Not because he had somehow started trusting Tom, but because Voldemort wouldn't let any opportunity of torture pass. He had at least that much trust in Voldemort.
Dinner finished and table disappeared.
From somewhere, a melodious tune started playing, quelling the anxiety in Ron's mind. It was a very soothing tune, something you would enjoy dancing to with your partner.
Ron looked at Tom.
"It's hard to think of you as music lover."
Tom noticed the sarcasm in Ron's voice. But he wouldn't rise to the bait. "One must learn to appreciate power and magic, Mr. Weasley, even if it's outside your realms."
"You almost sounded like Dumbledore there, do you know that?" Ron asked; a smile gracing his lips. "That was highly thoughtful. Tell me, Mr. Riddle," he leaned forward, "Are you always this thoughtful or it's something to do with my presence?"
Ron leaned back to observe the response of Tom.
Tom almost choked at the question. Was he simple to read today? Or Ron was just hazarding a guess.
Tom coughed slightly to cover the choke, but Ron had already noticed it. Tom waited for the inevitable laughter from Ron, but it never came.
It was Ron's turn to choke with shock. It was just a thoughtless question, meant to provoke him. He wasn't ready for the answer he got.
What's happening here?
"What do you want?" Ron demanded, narrowing his eyes at Tom.
"A dance?" Tom asked, trying his best to hide his hope.
Ron was bewildered. He wants to … dance? Dance?
Tom was by his side in a moment, holding his hand out for him.
"Are you crazy?" Ron couldn't stop the words from leaving his mouth.
Tom's lips curled upwards. It was far from smile. It seemed as if he had forgotten to smile. But it was a beginning.
"They say so," Tom answered. "Shall we?"
Ron got up, searching Tom's face for any kind of malice. He only found hope in his handsome features.
Absently, Ron took the hand and Tom led him to the middle of the hall. Gingerly, he placed one hand on his shoulder and another on his waist. And with a safe distance between them, they started swaying to the music.
Ron's hands were lying loosely by his side. He was too lost in his own thoughts to gauge the idea that he was dancing with Tom.
Hermione always used to say that I have an emotional range of a teaspoon. I never had been good at reading people. How, then, in Merlin's name, can I read this wizard before me so easily? How can I tell exactly what is he feeling at the moment by just looking into his eyes? And why am I not scared of him?
Ron looked up, to once again explore those black eyes, which were staring directly at him.
Ron was too scared to name what he saw in those eyes, but felt himself go red. He realised he was dancing with this man, but it didn't surprise or shock him.
The song continued. So did their dance.
Ron didn't know when his hands found their place on Tom's waist, but felt odd warmth in his cold skin.
He didn't know when he lost himself in the depth of those black eyes, but it seemed he just found himself.
He didn't know when Tom's hands snaked around his waist, pulling him closer, but he felt safe in those arms.
He didn't know when they got so close that he could feel his breath, but it smelt so nice … like cinnamon.
But he did know when their lips meet. And how they met! It was like a release of emotions … never felt … never acknowledged … never let free.
If someone later asked Tom did he remember how and what happened, he could recite it breathlessly. Not that anyone would dare.
But that how it was; he relished each and every moment. When Ron put his arms around his waist, when he stared deep in his eyes and Tom couldn't help but pour his soul out for him.
It was as if no one else could read him better than Ron.
He felt jealous and possessive of the boy before him, that he was sharing him with the surroundings, that this universe had known him well before himself, that unworthy people had shared his feelings better than himself.
He pulled the boy closer to him, wrapping his arms around the boy's waist.
Invigorating he smelt!
Tom found himself lost in the smell. A desire to claim the boy engulfed him. He forgot his insecurities as he inched closer to those delicious lips, taking in the intoxicating breath that was driving him mad.
But nothing was as heavenly as the feel of those warm lips on his cold ones.
He couldn't suppress the shiver that went through his body when their tongues met.
It was a gentle dance of tongues first, but soon it turned demanding, sensual and erotic.
It was Ron who pulled Tom closer this time, as if he didn't even want air between them. When they separated for air, Tom risked a glance at Ron whose eyes were full of surprise, lust and something Tom couldn't place. He didn't have much time to contemplate as Ron pulled him for another kiss.
"What do you want?" Ron whispered hoarsely, after their second kiss.
"You," Tom managed to speak, before Ron captured his lips again.
He remembered how they landed on a couch, never leaving each other even for a moment. How his hands found themselves working on their own wish, exploring Ron's body. How Ron impatiently tore his robes and surprisingly he didn't even mind. He rather preferred that method.
He would never forget the look of affection in Ron's eyes as he drank in the sight of a naked Tom.
He would never forget the gasps and moans he managed from Ron as his own hands worked wonders on his pale freckled-skin. They were his tokens of appreciation.
He would never forget the pleasure, the exhilaration they found when their bodies melted into one.
Ragged breathing, sweaty bodies, robes strewn across the floor, content smiles on their faces.
That's how they knew they were like when they were finished.
It was then they acknowledged to themselves but they had refused to till now.
They had fallen for each other.
And their love wasn't meant to last.
"What do you want?" Ron whispered. He was standing beside the window. Tom was still lying on the couch.
"It hasn't escaped my notice that you have given me whatever I have asked from you today," Tom noted.
Ron didn't reply. That was true!
"Will you give me something if I ask for it," Tom asked, "Again?"
Ron was still silent.
"Will you leave everyone and be with me?" Tom asked. That was the closest he could manage to 'I love you'.
Ron finally turned to look at him. He gave him a long look. And Tom knew he had read the underlying meaning in his statement. Ron knew how desperate he was for a yes.
"I will be," Ron said, his face serene. There was a glow to his face … a peaceful calm. "Do you think you can give me something in return?"
Tom closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Ron wasn't the only one who could read the other. Within a moment, Tom engulfed Ron in a hug, relishing in his scent, memorising his touch.
He let go of him after a minute, only to capture his lips in a passionate kiss.
"What do you want?" Tom finally asked.
Ron looked at him. He gave him a smile. "Kill me, so that we are not forced to live a fake life. Kill me, so that we can rise above guilt, hatred, dark and light. Kill me, so that I can be with the one I want to. Kill me, because only you can."
Ron looked straight in Tom's eyes. Tom held his gaze. That was the closest Ron would say to 'I love you.'
"Kill me," Ron said softly. It was neither an order, nor a plea. Two plain words.
Without breaking the gaze, Tom lifted his wand. Without breaking the gaze, he muttered the words. Without breaking the gaze, he saw Ron die. Without breaking the gaze, Tom felt something break inside him.
Then Voldemort turned away.
A/N: I dont know how many of you noticed my usage of Tom and Voldemort. I hope you have, since they imply the personalities. And i hope you also understood the meaning behind 'only you can'. Still i feel like explaining. Ron was innocent as compared to Tom. How much he tried, he wouldnt have been able to gather enough hatred to kill Tom, even though that would have solved everything. So ...
I hope you liked this one-shot. Do review please.
Thanks. Ciao